


Manipulation

by Tim (boywonder)



Category: Resident Evil
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-14
Updated: 2009-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/pseuds/Tim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birkin is a crazy asshole. Wesker is pissed off, but that's exactly what Birkin wanted in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manipulation

"Who is she?" Wesker's voice was calm, but dark. There was something in his tone that could quickly become anger, if he was pushed too far. He knew the answer, of course. He had known of the whole thing for weeks.

Birkin didn't bother looking up from his papers. His mouth twitched. "Why are you asking me a question you already know the answer to, Albert?" he asked. His voice was even calmer than Wesker's. If he was worried about inciting the older man's wrath, he never showed it.

The lock on the door clicked, and Wesker continued. "Do you make a habit of sleeping with all of your assistants?" he asked, the venom in his tone only slightly disguised.

Birkin's mouth twitched again, and there was a chord of amusement in his voice. "Of course not. It's all practicality. I need a child. She will provide this for me. I've known her long enough to know what I can expect from her. There is nothing she will do that will surprise me, nothing that will deter me from my work." He blinked, then looked up. Wesker's face was reflected in a dark computer monitor. Birkin stared at the older man's reflection, though Wesker's eyes were obscured by his ever-present sunglasses. "You, on the other hand, are interrupting me."

Anger flashed across the blond's face for just a second. Most people wouldn't have even noticed, but William Birkin was _not_ most people.

Birkin's mouth twitched again, and it occurred to him that he couldn't recall the last time he'd slept. It was very possible he was suffering a slight bit of mania. He could feel the urge to laugh just starting to bubble up inside him, though it wouldn't really be appropriate just yet. He was sure that Wesker wouldn't get the joke, and _that_ wouldn't do.

"Why are you doing this, William?" he asked. It wasn't about the sex. It irked Wesker more than a little to think that Birkin would deign to sleep with someone else, certainly. There was something that riled him, something that might be _possessiveness_ if he wasn't so far above normal human feelings and desires. It might even be jealousy, if viewed through other eyes. Birkin was _his_ first, and therefore should be _his_ last - _would_ be his last. But it _wasn't_ about the sex.

"Heh. Haven't I explained it? Albert. She is going to give me something you cannot. She is something that I need in order to achieve this. Are you upset with me?" His voice was a razor's edge. He wasn't angry; there was nothing to be angry about. But he could still feel the laughter threatening, and it built up too strong in his throat. He couldn't hide it. He didn't _care_ to hide it.

"A _goal_," Wesker said, all but spitting the words.

It _really_ wasn't about the sex. He probably could have ignored just that. Probably. It was about the _ring_. It was about the excited conversation between that _woman_ and some other overjoyed, twittering female. The ring. Birkin's name. _Together_. And Birkin had never mentioned her to him, aside from announcing one day that he had a new assistant. It had been nearly a year since that announcement. _That_ was what this was about.

Birkin finally turned and faced Wesker, his mouth twitching again. "A fallacy. A means to an end. You of all people should know how these things work. I have to give her something, you know. A promise. Pretty words. Some trivial bit of money, a possession." He waved a hand dismissively, not bothering to notice the slight shake in his fingers. If he'd noticed, he might have reminded himself to go to the cafeteria and eat; though the reminder might have gone ignored. Things in the lab were too important to step away from for long. He'd only come up here to the office for some files, anyway, and had gotten distracted reading them.

Wesker crossed his arms, and he noticed that Birkin's eyes flicked toward the door. The younger man stood no contest against him physically, of course; they were here until he was finished. He trusted that Birkin was aware of that.

Birkin tilted his head slightly and shoved his hands in his labcoat pockets. "Nothing from you for over two months and you come in here like this. I should call security."

Wesker ignored the threat. It wasn't the first time Birkin had said something like that to him. It was an absurdity, of course, and they both knew it. Although, Wesker had to wonder if one day Birkin might just do it to see what would happen. He wouldn't put it past him.

"What would you do if I got married?" Wesker asked, using a tactic he'd seen Birkin use before - changing subjects abruptly, with the intent to lead back to the original.

Birkin blinked, and was quiet for a minute. Surprise showed on his face. He hadn't realized that Wesker knew about the wedding. He smiled, though his smile was somehow _cracked_. It looked as if it belonged on the face of a mental patient, though it was only for a moment. The smile faded into a smirk after that.

"I would poison the food at the wedding," he said, smoothly. It almost sounded as if he was teasing, but Wesker knew that there was very little Birkin said when confronted with something that was entirely true.

"Is that a suggestion?" the older man asked, deadpan.

Birkin laughed, and the mania he felt lingered between them in the room until he managed to close his mouth and cut off the sound.

"I would prefer you wait until after my child is born. I'd hate to take drastic measures against you, Albert."

The anger on Wesker's face was more apparent, then. He hated when _anyone_ spoke to him that way, challenged his authority so entirely. Idle threats to call security were easy to tolerate, easy to dismiss. Blatant disrespect, however, _galled_ him. William Birkin was, perhaps, the only man on the _planet_ that could get away with it. There were times Wesker would even ignore it, _allow_ it. Birkin was smarter than him, a better scientist.

But he was meaner. _Deadlier_.

"Were you even planning on inviting me?" he asked. It was another absurdity. There wouldn't be a wedding in the sense of the word. Birkin wouldn't pull himself away from his _work_ long enough for that.

The laughter returned, louder now. Birkin took his hands out of his pockets again, restlessly. This time, _Wesker_ noticed the trembling. Birkin himself still did not, or did not seem to.

"Yes, of course, Albert. I'm sure that the look on your face right now would be well-received at a wedding reception. We could dance, you and I, and you could look at me like that while Annette watched us. Do you think she'd be as angry as you are? I don't think she could be, Albert. I think-"

"Shut _up_," Wesker hissed, and took a step toward Birkin. Birkin's smirk returned, at that, spreading slowly across his face and settling there comfortably. Wesker realized his mistake immediately. That was exactly what Birkin had wanted him to do. He was baiting him, asking for his anger. Had he done this before? Probably. Birkin was one of the only men that Wesker knew that he considered to be unpredictable at all.

There was something about a line between genius and insanity. Birkin made him wonder if there was really a line, if there was really a _difference_.

"Is this about her, or about _you_, Albert? Oh, don't worry, I don't play favorites. I won't neglect you. I've always been dutiful, you know, always-"

"_William_," Wesker said, warning. He took another step, and it seemed to echo in the space between them. Birkin blinked at him, and rubbed his eyes for a minute. Wesker noticed the bags there, darker than usual. Of course. Birkin and his precious _work_.

Birkin waved his hand again, as he had before, dismissively. He continued, though it seemed as if he had left some words out. It was probable that he had, though it was just as probable that he'd simply forgotten them.

"Really, I don't think I'll be letting her stay here once she conceives. I can send her someplace safe, and then you don't have to worry about what I'm doing with whom. Unless you'd like me to install cameras. Closed video feeds. Do you want to keep an eye on me like you do on everyone else Albert? I won't tell her, she won't mi-"

Wesker didn't realize he'd closed the space between them entirely until he'd done it. He grabbed Birkin's shoulders and shoved, pushing the man up against the blank wall of monitors behind him. Birkin hit the wall almost hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Almost, but not quite.

He laughed again, the edge more obvious than the last time. "Yes, _exactly_," he said, as if Wesker had finally reached some grand conclusion, solved some puzzle that he'd been trying to solve for hours.

Wesker could feel his jaw clench. Why had he bothered to come here? It was obvious to him that Birkin's marriage was contrived. He had wanted proof of that, and he had obtained it. And yet, he was still furious. Furious at Birkin for playing his ridiculous mind games. Furious at himself for allowing Birkin to pull his strings like this. He played into the scientist's hands _completely_. He had Birkin up against the wall, literally, but he had no control here. He wasn't sure when or how he'd lost it. The anger was only part of it.

He _hadn't_ solved Birkin's puzzle. Not yet. And it made him _seethe_.

"What are you going to do to me, Albert?" Birkin asked, and his tone changed. There was something that might have been fear just starting to creep into his voice. Wesker knew better, of course; Birkin wasn't afraid of him. Birkin would _never_ be afraid of him.

But Birkin's tone was _soft_ now, pleading. Wesker wanted to ignore the fire that threatened to engulf him. That tone was another mind game, he knew. Whether he released the younger man and stormed out, or tightened his hands hard enough to leave bruises on his shoulders, Wesker would lose the game. He knew, and he didn't care.

When had he allowed Birkin this _control_ over him? He knew better than this. He _knew better_.

Birkin's eyes bored holes into Wesker's, despite the sunglasses being there. Birkin had always simply looked right through them. His eyes were wide, tired, and...something else. Wesker couldn't place it. Wesker could never place it, that _other thing_ there in Birkin's eyes.

"It doesn't matter anymore, you belong to me regardless of what else is going on," Birkin was saying. It took Wesker a second to realize that the words had actual meaning. It sounded like he'd missed part of the conversation, but the meaning was crystal clear.

_You belong to me_.

"No, William," Wesker said, his voice low, "I do not and I will not."

Birkin laughed again, and made a motion that would have been a shrug if Wesker wasn't holding his shoulders so tightly.

"You're standing here like this, Albert, I don't need any proof other than that. I can lie as well as you do, but you'll see through me as I see through you. That's what makes it so perfect, don't you understand?" His voice was still soft, almost scared. Wesker could have pretended that Birkin was simply talking his way out of a volatile situation. But that would have been a bigger lie than anything else.

The blond man sneered a little, but he found that there were no words. Birkin and his _fucking mind games_.

Wesker wanted to plant his fist right in that smirking face hard enough to split the scientist's lip. The only thing that kept him from doing it was knowing that Birkin was probably counting on that.

"Albert, I'm very busy today, can you come back later?" Birkin asked, his tone as "normal" as it really ever could have been.

Wesker's hands tightened for a second before he released Birkin and stood up straight again. He was still furious, though he no longer knew exactly what his fury was directed at.

He turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He didn't manage to close it fast enough to miss the laughter that followed him.


End file.
